


Where Do The Lonely Souls Go?

by mtn_dew_red



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz (Two River Cast) Actor RPF, Be More Chill - Ned Vizinni
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Squips (Be More Chill), Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, College, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, boyf riends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24502939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtn_dew_red/pseuds/mtn_dew_red
Summary: In the last summer Jeremy and Michael will ever spend together before Michael moves to New York for university, Jeremy works through his emotions he's been repressing for years, and finally allows himself to feel. Slow burn, friends-to-lovers.
Relationships: Jeremy Heere & Michael Mell, Jeremy Heere/Michael Mell
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	Where Do The Lonely Souls Go?

-May 25th; 5:53 p.m.-

An odd sense of nervous excitement makes its way into Jeremy Heere’s bones, making him buzz and fidget with his hands as his stomach churns and threatens to throw up the sandwich he had knocked back for dinner. A graduation cap sits atop his head, slightly crooked and red. The top of which is painted- he’d done that several nights ago- with ‘Level: passed’ in the stereotypical Apocalypse Of The Damned font and an enemy from the game directly to the right of the lettering. Michael had called it dorky, but Jeremy knew that deep down, Michael wishes he could have done the same if it wouldn’t come off as copying. Jeremy can see the golden tassel of the hat in his field of vision, waggling with every turn or twitch of his head and swaying back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. A metaphor for Jeremy’s time at Middleborough High coming to an end, at last. 

He scratches at his arm through his equally-as-red graduates robe. The thing was itchy, despite being silk (thank you, cheap ribbon trimming), and swamped Jeremy’s thin and lanky frame. It looked almost comically huge on him, and hung off of him in awkward ways. He dreaded the moment he would have to get up from his seat and walk across the stage for that very reason. Jeremy watches as their principal gives a speech about one thing or another- probably thanking them for sticking with school instead of dropping out or something equally as lame- but he’s not really listening. Instead, he’s glancing over the other capped heads sitting around him, stacked up against each other and upright in their chairs like they’re attending church. Jeremy could almost think it looks no different than his view from the back of the pews as a little boy. A long time has passed since then. A very, VERY long time. 

Across the auditorium, Jeremy can just barely see Michael, tanned skin a standout amongst his white majority peers. He’s got his grad cap covered in iron-on patches, and to say Jeremy was unsurprised would be an understatement. Michael Mell puts patches onto every item of clothing he’s ever or will ever own- it was no surprise he didn’t make an exception for his cap. From here, he can just barely make out one which appears to be a rainbow heart. Leave it to Michael to proudly express his sexuality, no matter the occasion. In a way, Jeremy admired that about his best friend. Michael didn’t care what other people thought of him. He didn’t mind the way they stared, or the way they called him names behind his back. Michael just didn’t give a damn. He was unapologetically himself, and Jeremy very much envied that. 

Even now, as a standout with his tanned skin, almost impossibly thick-lensed glasses, and patch-covered clothing, he couldn’t care less. He was here for the same reason as everyone else, and completely unbothered. Jeremy wished he could say the same as he fiddles with a loose string on his gown, winding it around his fingertip and giving a sharp tug to pull it from the fabric without taking the entire seam out. He balls the thread between his fingers, flicking it onto the linoleum floor of the gym. The principal has stepped back from his podium now, and applause echoes around the place like thunder. Jeremy feels the noise deep within his rib cage, and decides that he, too, should be clapping. He wills his hands to cooperate, cupping them together and applauding a speech he didn’t even listen to one line of. 

“And now, we will begin giving our students their diplomas.” The superintendent chirps into the microphone, and Jeremy can feel his heart drop through his feet and into the cheap, rubbery floor. At least they went in alphabetical order- that way, Jeremy had time to prepare when they began exploring their list of ‘H’ students rather than just waiting in fear to have his turn come up like a third grade group reading circle. Jeremy had always hated those sorts of things- they never had enough structure to them, and put too much of a spotlight on one person for it to be ethical. The pressure always got to him. He remembers the one time that he was called on to read, and began crying despite the paragraph he was assigned being only three sentences long. He had to rely on Michael to chill him out when class had ended during recess. 

“Graham… Griffon.... Gordon…” The superintendent drags on, and Jeremy watches as student after student dressed head-to-toe in the school’s colors shuffles across the stage, takes their diploma, shakes a few hands, and leaves. It was a pleasant sort of organized rhythm. Like ants in a line, bringing food back to their colony. Walk, receive, shake, leave. That was all there was to it, and yet somehow Jeremy felt like the second he walked up there, that pattern would become the hardest thing to ever exist, and he’d fall flat on his face in an auditorium full of onlooking people. He’d be that kid who fell during his diploma receival. He allows himself to picture this in his mind’s eye for a brief few moments; him tripping over his cherry-red robe and falling face first into the rough stage flooring. The sound his face would make upon contact, and the way it would bounce off of the walls of the gym. An echo of his failure. He tunes back into reality in time for his name to be called. 

“...Heere…”

At first, Jeremy doesn’t move at all. He simply sits there as his brain fires again and again, trying to will him into getting up and out of his shitty, fold-out plastic chair. He finally moves, side-shuffling past the other people in his row and mumbling apologies before he tumbles into the aisle, hands shaking far more than he’d like to admit. His feet feel like they’re moving without him, simply dragging his body along for the ride as he makes his way towards the stage. He can feel a thousand pairs of eyes trained on him, watching him, burning into him as he steps up to receive his diploma. Like little invisible daggers, he thinks. From up on the stage, Jeremy can see Michael more clearly, dark eyes sparkling at him in a way that screams ‘I’m proud of you’ and other various silent exclamations of approval. This eases Jeremy’s nerves at least a little, and he feels more at peace with taking the diploma from his principal’s hand, and shaking several others before making his way offstage. Once he’s off to the side, Jeremy’s dad calls him over and pulls him in for a tight, bear-hug. Jeremy swears he can feel the life being crushed inside of him, along with various internal organs. “I’m so proud of you, son.” He says, finally letting up on his crushing embrace. “I wish your mother were here to see you graduate.”

Jeremy watches as his peers continue shuffling across the stage in the same way that he had, eventually coming to Michael. Michael bounds up those steps, unapologetically proud of himself for finishing high school, and dressed to the nines in his patched-up geeky glory. He can’t help the way that his heart swells up in his chest, and a familiar, tugging feeling settles within him. The same tugging feeling he’s felt looking at Michael for the past twelve years of friendship. The feeling he’s never quite been able to place. Michael bounds offstage, shooting Jeremy a pair of dorky finger guns and going to hug his two moms. 

The freckled boy nods at his father, mouth finally catching up with his brain. “Yeah, me too.”

-May 31st, 12:07 p.m.- 

“No, no, no! Fuck…” Michael swears, tossing his remote across the room. It thankfully lands on carpet, not shattering like his last one had, and bounces a few times before smacking against the wall and knocking the battery panel off. Jeremy raises an eyebrow, unable to stop the laugh that is pulled from deep within his chest, rippling around them in a sort of ugly cackle. If he were with anyone else, he would be embarrassed, but seeing as Michael snorted when he laughed, he didn’t have a care in the world. “Sore loss.” Jeremy comments, and Michael is already sinking back into his red beanbag, rolling his eyes and pouting pitifully like a child who’s just been told off. “Oh, go fuck yourself.” He grumbles. “That was cheating, and you know it.”

Jeremy puts his remote down in favor of grabbing a handful of potato chips from the bag sat between their two chairs. It once was full and freshly-opened, but now only crumbs and bits of the crisps sat within the bottom of the bag. The two of them continued to snack on them, regardless. “It’s not cheating if it’s a game mechanic.” says Jeremy, shoving a handful of almost-chip-dust into his mouth and chewing languidly. He wipes his crummy hand on his skinny jeans. Michael gives him a disdainful look. “Fine, then I call hacks.” comes his response, and Jeremy just rolls his eyes. For being such an active gamer, Michael was the world’s sorest loser. 

He swallows his bite of chip dust before speaking, feeling the way the snack has stuck itself in the little crevices of his back teeth. He always hated that about chips. “Let’s see,” He begins, raising fingers and counting on them as he relays the round of Mario Kart the two of them had just played. “It was lap three, you were in first, I was in second. You swerved off of the track, I got a Bullet Bill powerup, and I won! No hacks- just game mechanics.” He says, waving his fingers in front of Michael’s face in a lame attempt at taunting him. Michael wants to sock Jeremy in the gut. “Oh, whatever. The chances of that happening are so impossibly slim. I am the KING of Rainbow Road. I’ve never been beaten…”

“Until now.” Jeremy says, giving him a cocky grin that makes Michael raise a sock-covered foot to kick him off of his beanbag and onto the floor. “I didn’t ask you to come over and destroy my Rainbow Road streak.” He complains, arms folded over his chest like a pouting toddler. Jeremy almost feels sorry for him. Almost. “I didn’t ask you to be a sore loser, either.” He chortles, and that earns Jeremy another sock foot kick on Michael’s part. “Ow! Hey, just because I’ve known you for twelve years doesn’t give you a free kick-me pass anytime you feel like it.” 

“Sure it does.” Michael says, leaning back in his bean bag so he can raise both of his feet and kick at Jeremy’s thighs, giggling like a child would playing footsie under a table. Jeremy laughs, his long, freckled nose scrunching up as he begins to kick him back, feet battling with Michael’s for seemingly no particular reason other than in good fun. He could always just joke with Michael like this. They’ve always been so close that it didn’t really matter what they were doing- they just were glad to be doing it with each other. They found a sort of solace and peace in one another’s company. 

Once the two boys have stopped their relentless foot attacks on one another, and their giggle fit subsides, an eerie quiet settles over the small room of Michael’s basement, the only noise being that of Mario Kart still playing on screen. Michael scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck, speaking up and shattering the silence with his deep, tenor voice. “Hey… I’m gonna miss you, you know? I’ll miss… this.” He says, vaguely gesturing to the area around them, and Jeremy somehow gets exactly what he means. He nods. 

This would be the last summer the pair would spend together before college. The last summer EVER before Michael heads up to New York for university, leaving Jeremy to fend for himself at a local college here in New Jersey. The pair had been dreading this for years… and now it was finally on the horizon. Just a few more months, and the future would become the present, and Michael Mell would no longer be the kid down the street. He’d be states away, reachable only by skype or text, and Jeremy would be alone for the first time in twelve years of friendship. 

It was a frightening thought.

“I’ll miss this too, man.” He says, finally, a heavy feeling settling within the pit of his stomach. It feels like someone has dropped ten pound dumbbells in right beside his organs, weighing him down with unprocessed grief and guilt and emotion. Three more months, and Michael would be gone. The very thought horrified him. “I mean, what’s the longest we’ve been without each other before?” he asks, and Michael responds so quickly that Jeremy could almost swear he’s been worrying about the same thing. “Two weeks.” comes his reply, and the Filipino shakes his head. “I just… I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, man. On one hand, the theater program up there is super good, but on the other, you’ve been here for me for basically my entire life… It’s going to be hard to leave you here. We’ve always been part of a team.”

Jeremy places a reassuring hand on top of Michael’s, his pale and thin in comparison to the other boy’s, which was much wider and tanned, with calloused fingertips from playing bass guitar. “Hey… It’ll be okay. I’ll call you every day, man. I won’t give you a second to even be alone.” He grins, and Michael rolls his eyes over-dramatically. “Oh, god, every day? I can barely stand seeing you in real life every WEEK.” He jokes, and Jeremy can’t stop the gentle laugh that rumbles through his chest. 

They may be able to joke about it now, but come August, Jeremy isn’t so sure it’ll be so funny anymore. 

-June 7th, 3:34 a.m.- 

Jeremy awakens to a tapping on his window, and the only thing his sleep-laden mind can think to do is grab a second pillow from the foot of his bed, pressing it over his ear to muffle the noise. He grumbles, eyes hazy as they blink open to stare at his window. His shutters are drawn, giving him a perfect view of the sky outside and his roof from the second floor. Stars hang in the sky, dim in the early summer heat and twinkling slightly. Without even having to get up and open the window, Jeremy knows exactly how the air from outside would feel on his skin- warm and sticky and a drastic change from the cool air conditioning of his second floor room. He thinks back to the time when his mom had first left their house, when they didn’t have enough money to pay the electric, and Jeremy was forced to spend his summer sleeping on top of his covers, nearly naked to avoid overheating. It’s amazing how much of the summer air can get trapped in upstairs rooms, even with the windows open to let in the tiniest breeze. 

The tapping comes again, and Jeremy begrudgingly gets out of bed, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his fists and staggering in the direction of his window. He lets his eyes adjust to the dim light from the moon illuminating his front lawn, and the boy stood on which, a palm pull of little pebbles and a grin upon his face. Jeremy’s eyes don’t even need to adjust for him to know exactly who it is. Jeremy unlatches his window, using all of the strength he has in his thin, noodle-like arms to force the pane up. The warm night air ruffles through his hair as it seeps into his room, taking the air conditioning with it. “Michael?” He whisper-shouts, conscious of his dad sleeping only a few rooms away. “It’s… three in the morning?” He yawns, shooting a glance at his red and blinking alarm clock. On the lawn, Michael stands, shrugging. “I couldn’t sleep. You up for a smoke?”

Jeremy blinks unevenly, wanting nothing more than to turn around and tuck himself back into bed, but this was MICHAEL… and Jeremy was never the type to pass up smoking with his best friend. He grumbles, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, gimme a second…” He says, turning away from the window to pull on an old, faded tee shirt instead of staying shirtless in only his pajama pants. He carefully swings a foot over the window ledge, his bare heel hitting the shingles of the roof as he steadily crawls out. Making his way to the ledge, he lays down on his stomach, extending a hand for Michael to take and pull himself up. With a huff and some struggle, Michael gets himself up on the roof with Jeremy, smiling dorkily, face illuminated by the light of the stars and the streetlamp just a few yards away. “Hey.” The shorter of the two breathes, and Jeremy can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face like butter on bread. “Hey yourself.”

Michael scoots across the rough shingles on his ass, jeans catching a little on the texture of it as he moves to sit next to Jeremy. “So, you couldn’t sleep, huh?” The freckled boy asks, looking at Michael with heavy lidded blue eyes. Michael is fishing a small bowl from his hoodie pocket, nodding as he sits it beside them in a way that it won’t slide down the roof and land in the grass. “Yeah… I’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours. I figured I’d just come over here and waste the night with you rather than bored out of my mind.” He explains, and Jeremy nods in understanding as Michael produces a zip-loc bag full of little green nuggets from his hoodie pocket. Jeremy thinks briefly of how, when the inventor of the sandwich bag designed his product, he certainly wasn’t thinking of eighteen year olds putting drugs inside of it. The thought almost makes him chuckle. 

Michael busies himself with grinding, fingers working deftly in a practiced movement so that the process only takes a small amount of time. Jeremy watches him intently, eyes trained on Michael’s calculated hands, and his concentrated facial expression. He watches and feels his heart tug at his rib cage, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t want to kiss that frustrated look right off of Michael’s face… but he doesn’t. He sits and watches Michael pack the bowl with weed. “Light?” He asks, and Jeremy fishes a lighter from Michael’s pocket, lighting the bowl with shaking hands after a few failed attempts. 

He watches as Michael inhales, holding the drug within his lungs for a few moments before blowing out a cloud of smooth, wispy smoke. It swirls up into the night air, dissipating in the glow of the moon, and when Michael makes eye contact with Jeremy, the taller of the two can swear he can feel his heart skip a few beats. Michael had always managed to remain so effortlessly beautiful. So pretty. Jeremy’s heart twists in a way that hurts. 

Michael coughs lightly into his elbow, shoving the bowl in Jeremy’s direction, and Jeremy takes it willingly, bringing it to his lips and inhaling smoke. It buzzes in his lungs, tingly and threatening to make him cough. He holds it in for the sake of not awakening his father, exhaling steadily after a few moments and watching the cloud disappear into the sky among the stars. Michael gives a hum next to Jeremy as a thought enters his brain. “Constellations.” He says, simply, and Jeremy raises him an inquisitive brow. “Your face. Your freckles, I mean. Constellations.” He elaborates, and Jeremy’s brows knit before he laughs softly. “There were literally a million ways you could have phrased that, and you settle for ‘your face, constellations’?” 

Michael gives a light chuckle, genuine and warm. He taps his temple. “That’s the genius of my mind.” He grins cheekily, and Jeremy is grinning back at him before he can think any better of it. Between them, Michael’s hand moves to rest on top of Jeremy’s own, and with his heart pounding in his chest, Jeremy links their fingers together, giving a soft squeeze and staring out into the empty, three a.m. suburban street. Deep within Jeremy’s heart, something about this just feels right. 

-June 15th, 11:54 a.m.- 

Chocolate ice cream streaks down Jeremy’s hand in ribbons, and his tongue can barely keep up with the flow as he tries to prevent it from spilling onto the denim of his shorts. Across the table, Michael is shoveling spoonfuls of lime sherbet into his mouth, amused at Jeremy’s futile efforts to keep clean with his sticky mess of a melting ice cream cone. “You could have just ordered it in a bowl.” He remarks, a cocky grin overtaking his features as Jeremy battles yet another onslaught of melted frozen treat all over his hand. Some of it dribbles down his arm, and Jeremy is forced to lick nearly down to his elbow to prevent it from spilling. He shoots Michael an annoyed glare. “You’re the one who let me get it in a cone, you fucknut.” 

Michael shrugs. “You’re the one who let me let YOU order it in a waffle cone. Your move.” He says, and then laughs as Jeremy attempts to suck melted ice cream from the top of the cone, only causing more to spill out down the back of his hand and fingers. Jeremy gives an annoyed grunt, now resorting to passing his cone to his other hand, licking stripes up the back of his hand and palm, and sucking on each one of his fingers to rid himself of the sticky, sweet mess he’s gotten himself into. He works quickly, making sure none of it gets on him as he cleans his left hand, and when he looks back up at Michael he swears he can see the boy snap out of staring, and then look off to the side nonchalantly. Though, maybe Jeremy’s hopeful mind just imagined it. He assumes his mind is also imagining the way Michael’s ears are tinted a pleasant shade of pink. 

Jeremy raises an eyebrow. “What?” He asks, seeing the way Michael is looking at him. It’s an expression Jeremy can’t quite read or place, but he’s seen it on Michael before. The tan boy scrapes his white plastic spoon around the Styrofoam of his ice cream bowl, collecting the last little melted bits of sherbet and licking them off. “Nothing,” He says, resting his chin on his hand as he pushes the now empty bowl away from him. “Just watching you fail miserably. It brings me great joy to watch you struggle.”

“Oh, fuck off…”

The shorter boy gives a genuine laugh, watching as Jeremy tips the cone a bit too far towards him, and a sticky chocolate mess spills directly onto the crotch of his shorts. “Ugh, you’ve gotta be kidding me…” Jeremy almost pouts, and Michael is shaking his head, getting up from the table to throw his bowl away. “I’ll get you some napkins. Geez, you eat like a toddler…”

Jeremy sticks his tongue out at Michael’s back, the ice cream beginning to soak in and chill his skin. He feels gross. Michael brings back a wad of napkins, helping Jeremy to clean up the mess and blot at the now very obvious and somewhat disgusting stain on the front of his shorts. The denim is sticking to his skin, unpleasant and chafing when he finally stands with Michael to leave. The walk back to Michael’s house is tense and quiet, and far more sticky than the walk to the ice cream parlor. Jeremy swears he’s not imagining the way that Michael’s hand brushed against his several times during its duration. 

Some part of him wishes for it to not be some coincidence, but another part of him knows for sure that it must be. 

-June 23rd, 8:02 a.m- 

For as long as Jeremy can remember, his father has hosted a neighborhood cookout every summer. Without fail, come the season, Mr. Heere would pick a date where all of their neighbors, family, and friends would get together in Jeremy’s backyard around a few grills and a campfire and waste the afternoon away with each other. It was a pleasant, warm tradition that Jeremy held very dear to him. However, it wasn’t the crowds of people or the yelling of little neighbor children running across the grass in a game of tag that made it so important to him. It wasn’t his dad’s barbecue or sitting around the fire and roasting s’mores as the day faded into evening, or watching sparks fly up into the air from the logs of the fire. 

It was when the children and families had started to wind down- when trashy pop music became gentle night time tunes and people began to head home for the night, their kids wore out from jumping around and playing all afternoon. When he and Michael could lay down a blanket and lay close to each other, looking at the stars without fear of being trampled by a group of six year olds playing red rover. 

When Jeremy finally felt like he could breathe, being so close to Michael and so open. Just enjoying the night with him and not letting anything else into his little world for the time being. This was the case with this evening’s cookout, as it had been with so many before. Jeremy lays to the left of Michael, one hand resting on his stomach and the other stretched out between the two of them as his eyes dart over the night sky, taking in all of the stars and planets and constellations above them. It’s a maze of beautiful, brilliant light, and Jeremy finds himself comparing it mentally to the way Michael’s eyes sparkle when he laughs. The thought makes his chest ache. Beside him, Michael raises a finger to the sky. “You know what that one’s called?” He asks, voice a pleasant low tone that Jeremy has dedicated his life committing to memory. He lets it reverberate through him, engulfing him in warmth and making him feel like he’s melting right at the very core. The knot in his heart tightens ever so slightly. 

Jeremy shakes his head, looking over at Michael and the way he’s smiling, teeth shining in the dim light of the moon. His eyes are sparking beautifully, and Jeremy takes a mental picture of him in this moment before he can even think better of it, filing it away quickly among the tens of thousands of other mental images he has of Michael Mell at any given point in time. Michael clears his throat. “It’s called Polaris. See? My moms say you can always find your way using it.” he says, and Jeremy tilts his head a little on the blanket, wavy brown hair splayed out in curls. “How?”

“It’s always to the north.” Michael explains, turning his head to look at Jeremy with a small smile, and Jeremy returns the look without hesitation, freckled cheekbones a little pink as a light blush overtakes him. Between them, Michael’s hand stirs, brushing oh so lightly against Jeremy’s in a way that shouldn’t make his heart leap, but it does. Oh, how it does. Carefully, calculatedly, Jeremy entwines his pinkie with Michael’s, and to his surprise, Michael makes no moves to nudge him away. Instead, he links their hands, giving Jeremy’s a light squeeze of reassurance as they sit in comfortable silence. 

Jeremy’s brain is thinking far too many things at once for any of them to stick whatsoever, so he settles for saying nothing at all, the only noise being that of distant chatter from adults across the lawn, the crackling embers from the fire pit, and crickets nestled somewhere within the lush grass. The sounds all combine into one entity, laying over the two of them like a comforting, warm blanket. It feels almost like the embodiment of ‘home’. Just… warm. All forest green, deep umber orange, and a cool, wistful blue. 

Michael shifts next to him, scooting closer and laying on his side to curl into Jeremy, laying his head on the boy’s chest. He can feel Michael smile, humming to himself as Jeremy gently cards a hand through his soft, black hair. “I can hear your heartbeat.” He comments, proceeding to tap the rhythm with a fingertip onto Jeremy’s hip. It’s such a small, quirky gesture, but Jeremy can’t help the way it makes the world feel as if it’s spinning around him, making his palms grow sweaty and his blush continue in earnest. 

He continues to brush Michael’s hair with his fingers, enjoying the quiet domesticity of it all. The calm, loving nature of both of their actions. It reassured Jeremy that maybe, just maybe he wasn’t going crazy after all. That maybe Michael felt the same about him, too. 

One could only dream. 

-July 4th, 9:12 p.m.- 

“Come on, we’re gonna miss it!” Michael shouts, grin spread across his face as he tugs Jeremy along with him, Jeremy’s pencil-thin legs nearly folding in half as he attempts to keep up. Michael tugs him to a grassy patch in the park, placing his hands on his hips and looking up at the sky. “Right here. We’ll be able to see everything.” He declares, beaming, and Jeremy shakes his head a little as he lays the blanket they had brought out on the grass. Michael's eagerness and excitement for the impending fireworks show almost made the burn in his calves from running all the way here from Michael's house worth it. Almost. 

He sits down on the blanket with Michael, keeping the other boy close as they wait in anticipation for the light show to begin. Jeremy loved fireworks. He loved the way they trailed up into the sky, and the way an eerie silence fell across everything before they exploded, brilliant and twinkling and beautiful. He loved the way the loud boom of the shell exploding midair made his rib cage rock and shake. Loved how the noise bounced around inside of him like a marble in a pin ball machine. 

Michael sits next to him, clacking his shoes together and staring up at the sky expectantly with a wide grin on his face. In the dim light of a nearby streetlamp, Jeremy can see every little curve of his facial expression. He looks stunning, even now, when he wasn't even trying. He stares, eyes roaming over the face he's spent twelve years of his life committing to memory; memorizing and storing away like a precious artifact. Michael glances over at him, brows knitting at the way Jeremy is staring. "Hey." He says, and Jeremy brings a hand up to press gently against Michael's cheek. 

Michael leans into the touch, gazing at him in a way Jeremy cannot seem to describe, and in the quiet of the park around them, Jeremy swears all of his thoughts click into place. They all find a slot within his brain, finally making connections and showing him a picture perfect recreation of every thought he's been trying to make cohesive over the past few months. It all slots into position like clockwork, and Jeremy can't help but wonder if Michael feels the same way, too. 

He wonders if Michael feels the dull ache within his chest when Jeremy looks at him. If he has the urge to kiss him until their breaths both give out and grow shallow. If he's thought about how it would feel to have their lips brush, even if only for just a moment. Michael is looking at him earnestly, eyes half-lidded and flickering between his lips and his eyes, and Jeremy thinks that maybe, just maybe, for a second his thoughts are going to be answered… but then a loud boom sounds from overhead, color spreads across the sky in a kaleidoscope explosion, and they're jumping apart from each other, mouths agape and eyes to the stars. So much for answered  
questions.

Next to him, Michael 'oos' and 'ahhs', watching the bright explosions fill the night sky and paint the world around them in bright, pretty colors. Jeremy only sees Michael, mouth open slightly and flushed a little pink. The way the light dances across his tan skin; painting him. A canvas. A work of art. He can feel his heart give a leap, and God Jeremy has never wanted to kiss someone more in his eighteen years of living. 

Long after the fireworks have ended, once Jeremy stumbles into his house, falling back against the door as soon as it’s shut, one loud and clear realization comes crashing down around him. One he should have realized far too long ago, but had been repressing for one reason or another. It washes over him in a wave, making him feel light and dizzy. 

Jeremy was unabashedly, undeniably, unapologetically in love with Michael Mell. 

-Jul 28th, 1:45 p.m.- 

“Shit! Jere, I need backup!” Michael yells, thrashing about on his red beanbag and waving the controller around like it will somehow better his gaming abilities. It does not. Instead, his character on screen is swamped by zombies, swallowed by the sickeningly green crowd and replaced by a big, blaring game over screen. He grumbles, relaxing into his chair. “That’s our fourth loss… what’s up with you, man? You seem… off your game.” Michael prompts, turning to look at Jeremy, concern lacing his voice. 

Jeremy is staring off into the space of the carpet, mind too lost in thought to even register that he’s being spoken to and the controller sitting loosely in his hands. Michael can practically see the cogs of Jeremy’s brain turning. “Hello? Earth to Jerm?” he tries again, waving a hand in front of Jeremy’s eyes to get his attention. This seems to work, and Jeremy looks up, blinking a few times. “Huh?” He breathes, brilliantly, not even realizing what’s going on. Michael points to the flashing t.v screen. “We just lost AGAIN. Seriously, man, what’s up? You’re acting… shady.”

Jeremy’s eyes go wide, looking between the screen, then to Michael and then back again, realizing what he’s done. “O-oh… sorry. Just… I have a lot on my mind.” He explains, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Michael raises a brow, turning to give Jeremy his full attention. “Well, I’m all ears. Mind sharing your thoughts with the class?” He asks, gesturing around the empty room and then to himself, smiling like a dork all the while. It’s cute, but it does nothing to ease the pounding of Jeremy’s heart and the rush of blood to his ears. His mouth feels suddenly dry. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Just… say what’s on your mind.” Comes Michael’s reply. Except, Jeremy can’t. He can’t say what’s on his mind, or he risks losing his only friend of twelve years. The one person he grew up with. What was he supposed to say? He feels lost, all of his thoughts tumbling around his skull like pieces of paper in a raffle, and the words he wants to say sitting right on the edge of his tongue but not wanting to come out in coherent ways. Instead, his brain melts and pours through his lips, and the only thing he’s able to produce is: “I like you.”

Jeremy clasps his hand over his mouth, like he’s just eaten something foul, face going pale as his eyes widen and he looks at Michael in a state of shock. The boy across from him’s expression goes blank, and he blinks back at Jeremy like a confused fish. “I… what? I’m not sure I heard you right.” Michael says, sounding confused and a little hopeful. Fuck it. Here goes… everything. 

“I’m in love with you, Michael.” He says, the weight lifting from his shoulders and chest and being displayed out in the open for Michael to prod at and pick apart. His innermost thought on a silver platter. The look on Michael’s face is unreadable, but his actions are, as he scoots closer to Jeremy, hand cupping the thinner boy's cheek. He rubs his thumb over the swell of his cheekbone, looking at him like he’s the only boy Michael has ever seen. He leans in, the distance between them impossibly small. Jeremy can feel Michael’s breath on his cheek as he hesitates, but then caves and puts his lips on Jeremy’s. 

Jeremy can feel as electricity runs up and down his spine, tingling in his fingers and toes. It flows through his very being, making him melt into the kiss as his lips move almost helplessly against Michael’s. It was all too good. Too much like everything he’d ever dreamed for him to even begin to process. It’s only after they run out of breath that Jeremy pulls back for air, and even then, they continue once more, getting lost in each other until their lips are pink and used and their breaths are bated and shallow, curled up in each other on the carpeted floor of Michael’s basement room, video game long forgotten about. 

Michael drags a finger up Jeremy’s arm, basking in the newfound comfortable silence and tracing nondescript shapes and letters into the other boy’s skin. It’s warm; a new feeling having swept over the both of them. One of understanding. Of love. Of careful, gentle touches and hesitant kisses. “I think I’ve been in love with you since we met.” the tanned boy says, gently, the smallest fond smile somehow making its way onto his face. Jeremy nods, holding him close and wanting nothing more than to stay like this for eternity. “Yeah.” he admits. “Me too.” 

-Aug 5th, 12:00 a.m.- 

Jeremy draws shapes into Michael’s bare chest, watching the steady rise and fall of it with each breath the boy takes, and the way the muscles of his stomach ripple when he shifts. It’s almost mesmerizing. He breathes out a sleepy sigh, the feeling of Michael’s hand in his hair threatening to lull him into sleep. “You’re leaving in five days.” Jeremy says, and Michael’s responding sigh tells him more than words ever could. “I know… I’m going to miss you. This.”

Jeremy nods, pressing his lips together into a tight line. “I know. Me too.” comes his response, soft and saddened. “I’m just… I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to tell you I liked you… and now you’re leaving me. I’m losing you before I even get the chance to have you.” He explains, unable to stop the way his throat tightens and his voice breaks. Michael gently massages Jeremy’s scalp. 

“It’ll be okay, Jere. We’ll make it. You have me. You’ll always have me.”

-August 10th, 7:00 a.m.- 

As soon as Michael’s college-bound car disappears from sight, Jeremy feels a strange emptiness overcome him. A void forms within him that he’s never felt before, and he knows it’s due to the fact that the one person he’s loved or will ever love is soon to be hours away from him at all points in time. He heads upstairs, flops down on his bed, and stares up at the ceiling. God, what a predicament he’s gotten himself into…

Beside him, his phone buzzes, and Jeremy is lazy to pick it up. ‘One new message - Player One’, it reads, and Jeremy unlocks his phone, opening his texts. Michael has sent him a picture of the road ahead of him as he drives, blurry in the photo but the sentiment is there. Below it reads:

‘Miss you already, dork.’

Michael has accompanied the messages with a small heart emoji, and for some stupid reason, that makes Jeremy’s own heart swell within his chest. This would be okay. They would be okay. He puts his phone down, smiling to himself and staring back up at the ceiling once more, wondering how the hell he got so lucky to be in the same world as Michael Oliver Mell, let alone the same country. A few states couldn’t put a barrier between them. 

Every day, like clockwork, Jeremy calls Michael over skype to talk with him during the afternoons when he doesn’t have classes. It’s a pleasant little routine, and somehow, even though they’re miles apart, Jeremy feels at home with Michael every time his laptop camera resolution clears, and he can see that bright, dorky smile in high definition. 

It makes the distance feel impossibly shorter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. This is my longest fic yet- Im not quite sure what possessed my to write this in the span of a few hours, but im glad i did, because holy shit im proud of this. Comments and kudos are appreciated. Peace. <3


End file.
